Page 67 of The Malibu Secret

He lets out a soft laugh. "The wedding never happened. A certain someone decided to play hide and seek in the forest, and I had to join the search party."

Me. He means me. Wait—what? I remember the helicopter blades chopping through air above me, remember being half-delirious when they finally found me. But did he seriously put his wedding on hold to come looking for me?

"You canceled your wedding day because I got lost? God, I'm sorry. That mountain lion came out of nowhere and I just... fell. Kept falling until I couldn't hear anyone from the trail anymore. Not my finest moment."

"It's poetic, in a way," he says, eyes crinkling at the corners. "First time we met, it was because a deer sent your Jeep rolling. Now a mountain lion sends you tumbling down a mountainside and back to me. The universe has a strange sense of humor."

His words bounce around my skull like a pinball. Me tumbling down a mountainside and back to him. Back. To. Him. Nope. Not getting my hopes up. Not happening. But damn if it doesn't sound like he might've called off his wedding for me. For real. If that's true, I've gotta come clean about everything. When I was out there thinking I was toast, I had this moment of clarity—I'm a complete moron. Staring death in the face makes you realize how much it'll suck to die without ever really living. That's what hit me. I was about to check out without ever telling Cameron how I felt. I made this bargain with the universe: get me out alive, and I'll stop half-assing life. I'll ditch all the commitment-phobic garbage that's been keeping me from Cameron. I'll just be with him. All in. Wife, whatever. If I could just get one more shot.

I squint up at him. "Cam, what exactly did you mean about the mountain lion bringing me back to you? Aren't you still marrying Willow?"

"No." His fingers continue their gentle path through my hair as he exhales deeply. "I couldn't go through with it. Not when it's you I'm in love with. It's always been you, Tally." His voice drops lower. "Maybe you don't want to hear this. Maybe I'm scaring you right now, but I stopped caring about that." He pauses, shaking his head. "That came out wrong. Your feelings matter more than anything. What I mean is—I'll take whatever part of your life you're willing to share. Because I finally understand something." His eyes lock with mine. "You own my heart completely, and I refuse to settle for anyone else. Not anymore."

I blink hard, wondering if I'm still lying in that ravine, my mind spinning fever dreams. Is this real? Cameron's words echo in my ears—he wants me, baggage and all. No ultimatums. No pressure. He'll take whatever scraps of myself I'm willing to share.

My chest tightens. It's like some twisted version of that old Christmas story—he's offering patience when I'm finally ready to leap.

I look at him—really look at him. Those steady hands that have never struck out in anger. Those eyes that have never gone cold with disappointment. He's nothing like the parade of losers my mom dragged home, nothing like the ghosts I've been running from.

That social worker was right. I've spent my whole life believing I broke my mother, carrying that weight. But with Cameron? For the first time, I'm not afraid of what I might destroy. I'm only afraid of what I'll miss if I don't say yes to everything—the ring, the vows, the whole damn fairy tale. Because I love him. God help me, I love him completely.

I grip the edge of the hospital bed. "Cam, if you're serious about not marrying Willow, if I'm really—" My voice catches. "If this mess of a woman is truly enough for you, there's something you need to know."

His fingers find mine. "Nothing you say will change where I stand. I belong with you, Tally. That's non-negotiable."

I squeeze his hand, feeling the calluses from years of medical work. "Cameron Kensington," I whisper, my throat tight. "When I was stuck in that ravine for those few days, when I thought it was all over—" I swallow hard. "I realized I'd been half-dead anyway. Walking around breathing but never actually living. Never saying the one thing that mattered."

His blue eyes lock onto mine, pupils dilating. I feel his pulse jump beneath my fingertips.

"Cameron fucking Kensington," I say again, savoring each syllable like the whiskey on my tongue. "I love you. God help me, I've loved you since you stitched me up that first night when I rolled my Jeep all those months ago. I've just been too chickenshit to admit it. But nearly dying out in the wilderness, alone, has a way of cutting through the bullshit. I love you. I want you. I'll marry you tomorrow if you'll have me."

His eyes go soft. "Tally," he whispers, like my name is something fragile. "I've been waiting to hear that since the moment I saw you."

His lips find mine, and suddenly words don't matter anymore.

Chapter Fifty-Seven

TALLY

Four Months Later

Everyone who matters is here—Cameron, Olivia, Celeste, my mother, Brinley, Cameron’s brothers, father and step-mother and his best friend Eli and his family—all of us gathered in this underground art museum with its soaring ceilings and dramatic lighting. Lilith stands at the altar looking serene in her ministerial role, a role she took on specifically for today. When she pronounces us husband and wife, I'll officially become Mrs. Kensington—a name change I once swore would never happen, not for any man on earth. Yet here I am, practically vibrating with anticipation. That's the thing about Cameron: he makes me want to break all my own rules.

I'm so fucking grateful for this second shot at everything—life, motherhood with Brinley, love with Cameron. The docs at the hospital didn't sugarcoat it: eight more hours and I'd have been a goner. Cameron finding me wasn't just lucky timing; it was the difference between my breathing and…not breathing.

And now? Pure, unbridled fucking joy. You know those people who flatline and come back talking about how everything's more vivid after? They're not bullshitting. That first pancake after nearly dying tastes like heaven drizzled in maple syrup. Flowers smell like they're pumping out pure ecstasy. Makes me think of that scene in Fight Club where Tyler Durden puts a gun to some convenience store clerk's head just so the poor bastard would finally wake up and actually live. I get it now.

So, yeah, after that shit went down in the woods, I stopped taking the good stuff for granted. My mom's been sober over a year now—longest stretch since I was ten. My kid's already stacking blocks like she's building a damn skyscraper, and she's not even supposed to do that for another month. Liv and Celeste would hide a body for me, no questions asked—and I'd do the same for those bitches. Got my name on the deed to Manic Muse and a mortgage that's all mine. Fucking miracle, when you think about it.

And, most of all, having Cameron—the kind of man who leaves notes in my coffee mug and brings home takeout from that Thai place across town just because I mentioned craving it once. The kind who, despite working those brutal hospital shifts, still has enough energy to pin me against the kitchen counter the second he walks through the door. Jesus, we've christened every surface in this apartment since I got discharged. Ten hours a day is all we get because he works so much, and we've made damn sure to use them. Not just the sex—though holy hell, the sex—but the way he looks at me after, like I'm some kind of miracle he's afraid might disappear if he blinks.

And, yes, we make love all over our house, up against walls, on countertops, bent over furniture—anywhere but in front of the baby. Thank God Brinley, at just over a year, sleeps like the dead for 14 hours straight. The second that monitor shows she's down, Cameron's hands are already tearing at my clothes, and I'm clawing at his belt. We're insatiable. Mom? She's tucked away in the ADU behind our Hancock Park mansion—far enough that she can't hear me screaming his name. The space fits her grand piano perfectly, which ranks just above oxygen on her priority list, followed by Cam, Brinley, and maybe me. Sometimes I swear she'd trade me for him in a heartbeat—she worships the ground my future husband walks on.

Yes. Our new house is in Hancock Park, where the air smells like jasmine and money. It's almost halfway between Cameron's sterile white halls at the UCLA Hospital and the buzzing needles of my tattoo studio. I expected suburban hell—cookie-cutter houses and pearl-clutching neighbors eyeing my sleeve tattoos—but this place has character. The streets are lined with jacarandas that rain purple blossoms onto pristine sidewalks. Massive 1920s mansions with red-tiled Spanish roofs and imposing Tudor facades hide behind wrought-iron gates and perfectly trimmed hedges. Every Wednesday and Sunday, I can walk three blocks to a farmer's market where hipsters in designer sunglasses sell $15 jars of honey next to old Italian men hawking heirloom tomatoes the size of my fist.

Our new house, which Cameron bought for us, sits like a fairytale castle on an acre of land—all steep gables, decorative half-timbering, and leaded glass windows. The five-thousand-square-foot Tudor Revival sprawls across its lot, an English manor transplanted to Los Angeles, complete with a stone entrance archway and climbing roses that somehow thrive in the Southern California heat. He insists it’s a slum compared to his brothers’ homes, and I’m sure he’s right, but to me, it’s a fucking palace. A palace I barely contributed to, as my Echo Park home was barely above water, which means when I sold it, I only cleared about $5,000 after all the fees were factored in.

Cameron unloaded his Brentwood mansion—and I'm talking actual mansion, not just realtor-speak—then dropped straight cash on this gorgeous Hancock Park place. Three million bucks, and he still had enough left over to buy me this insane ring.